A Day of Getting Lost in Venice

Musings

When was the last time you were lost? Since getting to Italy, I’ve been lost a few times, made a few wrong turns, and found myself disoriented, on numerous occasions. The unfamiliar has a habit of creating confusion as we grasp for some element of the understandable. Confusion and disorientation are not pleasant sensations, fostering feelings ranging from incompetence to foolishness. No one wants to feel the fool.

Looking more closely, disorientation is about knowing where you are and where you want to go. In this sense, it is relative to your expectation. One may feel foolish for not knowing something but only to the extent that they feel they should know it, or, that others know it. One may feel confused but it is ultimately a state of orientation – do I know where or what or why, and, how far out on that limb of not knowing am I?

What happens when the point of the journey is to stand in a place of not knowing and then find your way? Deliberately seeking the confusion of ineptitude, incompetence, or the unknown, rather than living safely within what is known because it is more comfortable, shifts everything. The journey is no longer about getting to a “place” but is now about the journey itself. My unknowing is not measured against the lack of knowing but rather, the opportunity of discovery.

Bridges and Dead Ends

Yesterday was a free day. No schedule. No destinations. We decided to break ranks and spend the day exploring the city as each couple desired. Sally and I decided to “get lost” in Venice by wandering freely around the historic center of the city and seeing where it led. Well, mostly lost – there were two churches we wanted to see and we had a general sense of direction. After a lovely breakfast at The Crazy Bar, our chosen morning place in Venice, we headed out.

One note on morning routines: in each place we stay, we find a morning coffee/breakfast base that we revisit during time in that place. Having a steady morning routine does several things: 1) gives a solid foundation to start each day – coffee and/or food, 2) creates a shared pattern for those traveling together, and 3) enables a bit of immersion into the local flavor as there is a lot of community happening in the local coffee shop/cafe.

Welcome to Venice, a wonderful place in which to get lost! The first step in wandering well is to put Google away and start walking in a direction. Our two goals were the Church of San Geremia, home of the tomb of St. Lucy, and the Chiesa di San Rocco, the church holding the remains of St. Roch.

If you look closely at the map above, you’ll notice the waterways separating each of the 118 Campos, or island areas, that comprise Venice. Connecting each of these islands are a collection of iconic Venetian bridges. You may also notice that many roadways and alleys stop at a canal. The water traffic has various points of drop-off and pickup along the canals, so many streets simply stop at waters edge – typically with a couple of steps down, thought the water is currently above those steps.

By the time we found St. Geremia, we had crossed ten bridges and ran into two dead-ends – a ratio we found to be highly successful. The quiet neighborhoods north of our apartment became busier as we neared the train station and the volumes of tourists walking forth into the city. We stopped into a “little” church called All Saints, along the way. We’ve really only seen two small churches and they were village churches in the Tuscan countryside. Nothing else has been small or lacked beautiful artwork.

San Geremia was a very large church but pretty plain relative to others we’ve seen. St Lucy (Lucia of Syracuse) was a Third Century Christian martyr who was killed for refusing a Roman suitor and then refusing to burn a sacrifice to the emperor’s image. She foretold the end of Diocletian’s reign and was sentenced to defilement in a Roman brothel, however, the guards were unable to physically move her. When they tried to burn her, the wood would not burn. She was finally killed by sword. We have a close friend whose daughter passed away on St. Lucy’s Feast Day, December 13. Lucy has been even more special to us since then.

The Joys of Wandering About

Moving along the narrow streets of Venice was liberating. The day was cloudy but the cool air felt great and the city was alive with activity. We passed one of the universities, this one for architecture, and saw a group of students sketching nearby buildings. How cool would it be to sketch 1000 year old buildings in Venice for your design class? We could see elements of local life, the schools, markets, churches, etc. – the normal things for residents. However, the volume of touristy shops, pop-up tchotchke stands, and restaurants, made it clear that Venice knows where the money comes from.

Our next stop was the Church of Saint Roch, a 14th Century Saint, who is the patron of dogs, invalids, falsely accused people, and bachelors. We frequently saw statues of St. Roch during our walk on the Camino de Santiago. He was a Franciscan and known for his help in Italian hospitals during one of the numerous plagues. Numerous miracles were associated with him, and though he died before the Black Plague, he was seen as a key intercessor for those suffering from it.

The church itself was not very large but the artwork was stunning. Massive paintings by Tintoretto covered the walls, depicting scenes from the Saint’s life as well as from the Bible. St. Roch’s remains are sealed in a tomb located above the alter and he was declared a Patron Saint of the city in the 1500’s.

We had lunch at a little ristorante next to Santa Maria Glorioso. Spaghetti Vongole (spaghetti with clams) and lasagna. We were still near the university so we continued to see students milling about. Santa Maria was a massive church with huge side altars/tombs lining the interior. Though still used for Mass, this is one of the cathedrals I would categorize as art museum and cemetery. Artists Titian and Canova were buried there, as well as numerous crypts of important people, with marble tombstones covering them and serving as much of the floor in this church.

Moving on, we came across a Barbieri (barber shop) in one of the Campos. We had now entered an area that looked familiar. Popping my head in, I asked if I could get a haircut. “No, no, too busy. I have client,” he responded. Rubbing my head, I replied, “It really won’t take long.” He smiled and asked me to return in 1 hour. We grabbed a glass of wine and sat outside at a restaurant nearby. Waving pigeons off and sipping our Chianti, we watched as tourists, Venetians, and the multitude of service personnel, moved about, mostly leisurely.

Alberto and Lucy

Returning to the barber, we were invited into the little shop: two chairs sitting in front of large windows looking onto the campo. “Who is this?” I asked pointing to a little dachshund laying in a bed on the floor. “That is Lucy!” He responded with joy and gusto in his voice. “We are like this,” he said as he brought his two index fingers side-by-side. “I am Alberto.” Alberto wore a white shirt with a black vest over it and had an ornate bow-tie on. He played American Jazz on his Marshall wireless speaker and his shop felt like something out of the past, less Venetian and perhaps more Jazz Age American.

I continue to find such joy in the common and simple connecting points between the exotic of this journey and the familiar of the humanity we are encountering. Everyone around us is working to earn a living, exploring, or simply living. Alberto still used a ledger book to schedule his appointments. He turned several people away during my haircut. My name was written in his book, but not in a time slot – he wrote it on the margin. As a good businessman, and a good human, he squeezed me in where there really wasn’t time for me. Thanks Alberto.

Walking out of Alberto’s shop, it had begun to rain. The unusual, extended, summer came to an abrupt end, and the cool, wet, fall, rushed-in like an exclamation point. Our day of wandering was coming to an end. What was previously unknown was now know, at least at some cursory level. We had been to each end of the map and the names now had an image. Venice was no longer unknown, but it remained a mystery. I think I like it that way.

Today, we leave Venice behind and head to Milan. We have ten days left on our trip. Like all great trips, it is the bittersweet tipping point of moving toward the end and the glorious anticipation of home. It is an edge I relish.